


An Earned Reward

by PrincessDesire



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, M/M, Podfic Available, Sub Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDesire/pseuds/PrincessDesire
Summary: Hux rewards his sub Ren for a successful mission. Written for FandomTrumpsHate 2000.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	An Earned Reward

When Kylo Ren is away from the Finalizer, everything flows so much smoother. Hux’s (mostly) capable crew doesn’t challenge his orders in an attempt to appease their more volatile superior; they remember suddenly that Hux is essentially their god, the one who can assign them to repair broken power couplings or send them to sacrifice themselves with the same ease of mind. The ship maintains its course with no deviations for psychic whims (unless they come from Snoke), none of this “I sense the need to go to Akiva'' nonsense. There’s no deliberate instigation of arguments over the pettiest of things (who could possibly have believed that Ren was invested in whether or not Yamota was demoted? Not him, that’s certain). Instead, Hux has time, albeit still in far too minuscule increments, to pore over news publications from all over the galaxy, keeping informed about changing situations on even the planetary level.

This kind of peaceful productivity is what Armitage Hux lives for. 

In theory.

But he keeps catching himself willing the speck of black command shuttle to appear out the viewport of the command deck. It’s been too quiet, too smooth, too dull without the nearly two vertical meters of chaos for which Hux is looking.

He’s going over service requisitions at his desk when they finally notify him that Kylo Ren’s ship has returned. General Hux may be alone, but he still behaves with composure, as an officer should. He forces himself to finish his task rather than leaping up to his feet. He’s barely seeing the forms on the screen, though, because this is the best part of Ren being away - his return. His finger swipes quickly and he hopes he isn’t approving anything too costly or time-consuming. Ren knows better than to head straight to Hux’s quarters anyway. He’s always filthy after any mission, even those that don’t involve bloodshed, like a puppy who has found a puddle, and Hux insists that Ren be, while not necessarily immaculate, at least presentable if they’re to play their games.

He places Mitaka in charge before leaving and mentally assures himself that the odd little fellow sees nothing amiss in the timing of Ren’s arrival and the departure of the general. So what if it happens every time? It’s not Mitaka’s place to wonder about the comings and goings of his superior officers or his superior...whatever Ren is. 

Hux almost expects Ren to be waiting for him outside of his quarters, but it appears that finishing the last of the reqs didn’t take as long as it felt like. There’s not much to clean up in the austere quarters but he straightens his collection of paper books, rubs his thumb around a ring of dried condensation where he regularly sets his mug, and sets upright a small rather uncomfortable throw pillow that had somehow fallen to the middle of his similarly uncomfortable loveseat before moving into the bedroom. 

He pulls out the lubricant from its hiding place under a spare blanket in the cabinet above his bed. Nestled with it is a riding crop that Hux is more than a little ashamed to own, but its implementation had gone over so well with Ren, he had been unable to take it out of their more regular rotation options. Hux has far fewer kinks than Ren, but his main one is indulging in Ren’s which makes for far more generous of a dynamic than any would assume Hux was capable. The bottle goes on the small side table.

There’s a drawer full of ‘bust’ items, ones that didn’t work at all that Hux keeps around mostly to remind himself what not to bother trying again. For example, blindfolds aren’t exactly useful for a manchild with force powers. Blindfolds terrify Hux, but then, he’d never consent to wearing one. If there’s something that Ren won’t consent to, they haven’t found it. Self-loathing, he’s discovered, is quite a desirable trait in one of his sex partners. He would say that loathing, in general, was a key component to the high quality of the sex they have, flowing as it does from all directions. 

He decides to take out the riding crop, in case the very simple task that he’d sent Ren to do went undone. That happens sometimes when he just wants to be punished. It would be difficult to miss the difference in his attitude when he’s failed deliberately compared to when he’s failed through sheer incompetence. Ren’s pride injures easily and he is an award-winning sulker. Why, there are even times when he’s too ashamed to come to Hux’s quarters after he’s failed, as though Hux wouldn’t just as happily smack his backside for true failure.

He rinses off and changes into civilian clothing, soft dark pants with a drawstring waist and a long-sleeved top with an asymmetrical v-collar. Often times he’ll keep his uniform on, if for no other reason than allowing General Hux to finally discipline his unruly co-commander the way he so deserves, but, as there will likely be no punishment today, he can be Armitage, albeit a more darkly playful one than the one he presents to Phasma when they occasionally share a bottle after a difficult shift. 

His preparations do not speed up the passing of time and his impatience can only be attributed to the bad influence of Kylo Ren. He doesn’t sit down, excited energy sparking within him, as he waits. Eventually, his door chimes as expected and, after allowing a full minute to pass, he presses the unlock mechanism.

Ren, mask off, face clean and strangely boyish for a homicidal maniac, waits there at Hux’s doorstep for permission to enter. Most of the time, the general feels cursed by this destructive sorcerer, but not in these moments, not when he’s anywhere near Hux’s bed. He would never think the word lucky, even when staring at the round puppy dog eyes eager for a kind word or a harsh hand.

“Come in,” he says idly, stepping back to allow the man entrance. 

Hux knows immediately that the mission was successful. Ren’s back is straight (for Ren anyway, since the man tends to walk with a bit of a natural hunch) and his head is facing forward. If he was expecting chastisement, his posture would lean forward with face toward the ground, an inauthentic approximation of contrition. 

Still, the general must allow himself to be debriefed because this is how the play goes and Hux is nothing if not a stickler for rules. He takes the middle seat on the stiff-backed loveseat while Ren removes all of his clothing. Hux watches with overt approval, allowing the brawny brunette to feel pride in his work; he certainly puts effort forth to keeping his body so in shape. When the clothes come off, the room that serves as living room, dining room, and office is decorated by a giant masculine centerpiece more aesthetically pleasing than anything that Hux could hang on the walls. 

With his temporary master seated, Ren takes a knee before him. The thrill this gives is still acute, even now that it’s become ritual. Who would ever have guessed his god-complex would come in such handy? “It’s about time. I’m assuming that with the extra two days I afforded you, you were successful in your mission?”

“I was, My General. There were more of the…”

“Are you about to give me an excuse, boy?” The name irks, as it’s supposed to, and he basks off of the glare it earns him. 

“No, sir.” 

“Good, because I don’t want to hear one. I put careful thought into the expectations of you every time I send you out and when you don’t accomplish your tasks in time, it throws off other schedules, creating my work for me.”  _ And drives me crazy with waiting for you to be back here in these quarters _ goes unsaid, though as a risk when playing with a telepath, something that might not go unheard. “And you give me enough work as it is.”

Ren bows his head in acknowledgment of a truth that he most likely doesn’t agree with. No matter. This is on Hux’s territory, the only place where his pawn is cooperative. Pushing his luck while Ren’s in this state is part of the game - or maybe it’s just one of the reasons why Hux plays it. 

“Enough of that. I suppose you’ve come for your reward.” Hux isn’t as good with doling out rewards and praise, though the time Ren had asked to be bathed was one of their most enjoyable times together. Hux had done no bad-mouthing at all but had been extraordinarily thoughtful the entire time and Ren had seemed rather charmed by the whole experience. It had been an exception, not the rule. “Loyalty to the First Order never seems enough for you, greedy boy.”

He knows what the knight would say in other settings. Ren’s made it clear time and again that he serves Snoke, not the First Order; pointing out that (for the time being anyway) serving one is serving the other falls on deaf ears. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He wonders when that deep voice will fail to affect him. Possibly never with the additional honorific.  _ Have I always been so vainglorious or has Ren’s submission made it worse?  _ Neither would surprise him.

“Come here then.”

Ren lowers down onto both knees and takes the few steps towards him, stopping only once his quads are touching Hux’s shins. Hux touches Ren’s face. When they’d first started these games, he’d flinch at Hux’s touch, admittedly with good reason, but trust had been built in these quarters, if nowhere else, and quite contrary to his old response, Ren closes his eyes, enjoying the contact they both so sparingly receive.

“You’ve done well for us...for me…” His thumb brushes the soft cheek. Ren’s skin is so much softer than a warrior’s should be. Must Ren always seem so delicate? How was he expected to not want to break something so fragile? “I want to reward you because you have done well.” The tip of his pointer finger snakes up Ren’s jawline to his ear, pushes firmly on the groove behind the lobe. “What would you like, my good boy? What favor have you won from me today?”

Eyes still shut, Ren’s mouth forms a few shapes before finally opening to speak. He’s embarrassed to speak when they’re in this game, when he has to admit his weaknesses out loud. Hux would feel the same way, if the tables were turned, but his wants are always about taking something from Ren. It’s never a weakness, just an ever-present rapacious spirit. When Ren wants, it’s an ache, a need, something that lowers him. Hux finds this delicious.

“Touch me, sir?”

“I’m touching you now.” His fingers trace lower down the back of Ren’s neck. The front part is where all those lovely cords of muscle are, the ones that his hand sometimes clamps down on; touching the back makes Ren shift his head up, craning slightly into the touch, exposing that pronounced apple that Hux wants to bite into more than he ever has the actual fruit. Oh, that he had fangs like a voxyn to adequately chomp such a thing.

His admirations of this part of Ren which produces sound (ironic given how often he’d like him to shut up), lead Hux to lean forward and press his lips there, not in a kiss, but feeling the skin and the pulse there with his mouth. Ren inhales sharply. “Or did you have a particular body part in mind?” Hux asks. He can smell the regulation order soap and he feels sudden pride in the obedience of his servant. He hopes the man was covered in the gore of violence before he diligently lathered himself up for Hux’s ministrations. It’s too bad that all this must be kept secret, that Hux will never be renowned for his beast taming abilities. 

When Ren speaks, he can feel the rumble through his lips. “Yes.”

Hux draws back his face and his hands, coming into a more practical sitting position. Ren’s eyes open, afraid he’s done something wrong. For how much the dark force practitioner worries about pleasing his master(s), it’s incredible how often he manages to fuck up. “Yes, you did have a particular part in mind?” he asks.

The eyes lower. “Yes, sir.”

“Well.” Hux pokes his finger into the center of Ren’s hairless chest lightly. He slides his finger down to just above the belly button. “I’m not the mind reader here, so why don’t you get onto my bed and we’ll see if we can’t narrow down this mystery spot that’s in need of attention.”

Ren’s face lights up. He isn’t always permitted on Hux’s bed. It’s not usually necessary as so many of the activities that they engage in tend to have Ren on all fours anyway. Plus, he likes the idea of Ren’s knees hurting from the hard floors of the Finalizer; no doubt the overdramatic masochist does as well. 

“Yes, sir.” This is said with more enthusiasm than customary, Hux notices in annoyance. He might keep that in mind the next time punishment needs to be meted out, though for now he just watches Ren crawl into the bedroom. His body naked, the position leaves nothing to the imagination, even if Hux were to have one. There’s not much meat to his ass cheeks which isn’t usually Hux’s preference, as he tends to prefer smacking a rounder target, but their lack means they spread wider and he can see Ren’s anus, pink and voracious as the Binarian Carnivorous Plant. His balls ride lower and fuller than Hux’s and had looked glorious the one time they’d tried testicle cuffs, but alas, the large orbs had proven too sensitive for that play and it was with regret that Hux had put the cuffs in the ‘bust’ drawer. Ren’s cock is harder to see from this angle, because he’s hard already and it bobs happily close to his belly even as he’s crawling, though it bobs lower, and the here and gone-again view is enthralling on its own. The underside of his feet are clean and huge with a flexibility in the toes that had been as unexpected as Hux’s own reaction to them, body parts he’d never considered sexy before having gotten his hands on his co-commander’s.

His own cock is letting him know that it’s just seen something it liked. Well, like every other part of Hux, it’s used to waiting for the finer things; nothing is ever handed to him (so to speak), and this is about reward, and not his own, as he reminds his libidinous alter ego. 

Before joining Ren, he fetches his gloves where they rest on the left shoulder of his greatcoat next to the door to his quarters. He slides them on though they clash with his casual attire knowing that Ren will hate them, hates when there is any barrier between skin. Frustrating the knight is his favorite pastime, in and out of the bedroom. 

Ren’s grace of movement when wielding his saber, a terrifying sight which Hux has only had the nervous pleasure of enjoying a handful of times, has been honed from years of practice. The way that his body glides around the ship is mostly a trick of the eyes played by the flow of his garment. His body has no natural grace, all exaggerated limbs and bullheaded momentum. He’s reminded of this seeing Ren splayed out on his stomach, with his legs and arms extended, a Klatooine paddy frog awaiting dissection. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t elegant, at least not for Hux who licks his lips at the sight of so much offered up skin and such displayed trust. No doubt someday that trust will be shattered beyond either’s comprehension, but it won’t be in this room.

He’d expected Ren to want some cock attention as he so often does; the reversal surprises and delights him.

“What a beautiful sight you make, Ren. And I suppose that the needy spot is on this side?” He brushes his gloved hand on the sole of one large foot resulting in a small sigh. “Not that the whole thing isn’t one needy spot,” he muses softly, allowing his hand to continue on to ankle and then thick calf. “Am I getting warmer, hm?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hux climbs onto the bed, his knees straddling Ren’s. He appreciates how dense the muscles are beneath the pale skin as he grips the width of Ren’s thigh. The hairs are darker than Hux’s and much denser on the calf, but barely there over the hamstrings. He smiles when he runs his glove over a cheek and a light moan comes out of Ren. He’s never had the good fortune to play with someone who so loves being spanked as Ren does; it’s easy enough to integrate some into reward sessions, though the reproofs fall more easily from Hux’s lips than praise. He gives it the slightest of smacks. “Have I found it?” he asks.

“No...almost, sir.”

Warmth swirls in Hux’s belly, comprehending the request and formulating what he’s to do for Ren. He allows himself to smile; Ren can’t see it anyway. “In that case, higher?” he asks knowing perfectly well it’s not that direction. He shifts his position so that he’s now mounting Ren’s ass, a common enough occurrence that his cock sends happy memories and hopeful requests to his brain. It must be taking lessons from the desperate man beneath him. He bends down, dragging one finger up the long road of spine to where it vanishes beneath dark tresses. These he tangles his hand in, tugging on four strands like the rigging of a sailboat, lifting Ren’s head from the bed. They’re lucky he hasn’t made Ren bald for how much he enjoys doing this. His slutty servant hisses. “I don’t suppose it’s here?” he asks, mouth close to one of those satellite dishes that operate as ears.

“No, sir.”

He can’t resist just one nip of earlobe; for all his teasing, and they are ridiculously oversized ears, Hux is rather fond of them. He also doesn’t resist a brief roll of his hips, grinding himself against the eager ass beneath him. 

“I suppose I’ll backtrack then.” He releases his grip on the hair; may the man never cut it or Hux will be left wanting for proper reins. His hands mark the path his eyes take over the large freckled back. There are minor blemishes, old scars from injuries or just acne. He likes the skin’s softness, though. It’s so easy to forget when Ren’s in his costume, the shadow of Vader, that there’s all this vulnerable flesh beneath. He would subdue a whole galaxy, crush even his family members beneath his boots, yet a pimple from when he was a teenager had left its indelible mark. It’s good to remember that after everything, Ren is just a mortal, a desperate subservient grown boy with authority issues.

One gloved hand on each ass cheek, he asks, “Now you said I was close here?”

Ren squirms. “Yes, sir.”

“Could it be that this hungry hole here wants attention?” he taps the tip of his finger against it like he would the button of a control panel. Ren lurches and Hux very nearly laughs. “Oh, I think I have found the spot.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Would you like me to touch it?” He punctuates this with another poke of his finger. Really, he’ll need to get some lubricant if he intends to plumb into the depths, but he loves making Ren ask for what he wants; the confession always seems to heighten his need. 

There’s a pause before Ren answers, “Yes...but…”

Hm, what’s this? Hux tilts his head, petting away gently at the puckered tightness, as he studies the man beneath him, as though he can see straight into his thoughts like he had the Force himself. The galaxy is lucky that Hux does not. “But?”

“I...permission to speak, sir.”

Drat. He’d rather thought that Ren wouldn’t catch his slip in time. “Permission granted,” he says disappointedly.

“Your gloves…”

“Ah yes, you do prefer skin, don’t you Ren?” He hopes this irks the other man because they both know damn well what his preference is. “Well, this is your reward, isn’t it? Float me that bottle and I’ll take off my gloves.” His demand is immediately answered, and the lubricant floats over, a water-based 8 oz ghost. “I assume both gloves?”

“Please, sir.” 

He’s gotten so much better at that deference. Pride blooms in Hux’s chest, unexpected and doting. He takes off the gloves. There are times when he’s struck by how special these opportunities are. Here is Kylo Ren, attack dog of the mysterious wizard Snoke, naked and asking politely to have his ass fingered. Oh, Hux is far from awestruck by the supposedly imposing figure; yet, he would be a fool to not appreciate the scene before him.

It isn’t until he pours out some lube on his fingers (just a small amount for now), that a spark of inspiration strikes his mind. General Hux is rarely a spontaneous man. 

“Get on all fours,” Hux orders. Immediate compliance, as he should have expected, but somehow didn’t, resulting in the strange sensation of being lifted up into the air, his ass falling into the dip of Ren’s back. “Not with me on you, you fool! I didn’t say I wanted to ride you like a kriffing Orbak!” This is completely on Hux for not being clearer or for not having moved in advance, but he’s used to taking it out on those beneath him, though not usually so literally. 

Awkwardly, he climbs off Ren the steed. Hm, that gives him an idea about something they can do with that riding crop, though. He files the thought away. 

When he speaks, his voice is back to calm and confident, though he’s still berating himself for the poorly given order. “Tell me, have you done your duty to the First Order today?” 

“Yes, sir.”

He shifts to the end of the bed so that Ren's ass is front and center of his vision and reach. He unnecessarily spreads the cheeks wider around Ren’s asshole with his dry hand. “Do you deserve a reward?”

“Only you can decide, sir.”

Hux may never know why someone like Ren would perform acts like these with someone he hates, but he can appreciate it anyway. He bends down like an animal drinking from a water source and gives a lick, a slow wide stripe with his tongue. A shiver runs the length of Ren’s body. So, he’d caught the mighty dark prince off guard. Nevermind that he’d also surprised himself. Has he done this before? Certainly not with Ren, and if not with Ren, who? He’s never had so many encounters with the same person before. What a depressing commentary on his life choices. 

His tongue repeats the motion, up from the top of the ballsack to a few centimeters above the anus. He hears Ren sigh and spots the tiny goosebumps that form on his skin. Hux's lips lock around the asshole, like a kiss, and his tongue swirls around it. It's a sensual taste, skin and pheromones, the primal tastes that keep humans coming back for more. It's certainly doing so for him, as he wants only to keep going, to carve his way to the center. His hands grip onto the cheeks, moving them further from his face and keeping Ren's hips right where he needs them to be. Ren moans while Hux’s tongue laves the sensitive flesh. For a few precious minutes Hux’s mind completely shuts off, lost to anything but the taste and sound of Ren. He has to hold firmly to keep his ecstatic partner in place; what he’s doing is turning Ren into some sort of animal in heat, more akin to Millicent when that spot above her tail is scratched than the joint commander of a military fleet. 

Finally, a little ashamed of his own enthusiasm for the act, he pulls his mouth off, staring in dazed admiration at how wet and pink his ministrations have made that asshole. Ren is positively panting beneath him. “Flip over,” he orders. “I want you on your back.”

When Ren gets really worked up, his hair tends to reflect this, or maybe it’s just due to all of Hux’s tugging, but regardless, it looks wild and tangled, like his eyes as they beg him for things they’ll do and those things they’ll never have the opportunity to do. He prefers it when Ren won’t look him in the eyes, when he’s shy or trying to hide rebellious thoughts; he’s never comfortable with how he feels when Ren looks at him like this nor how crazed it makes him. If ever he steps outside of himself, it shouldn’t be with this maniac. Yet…

He takes back up the bottle (it hadn’t drifted far) and adds more lubricant to his fingers. “You did well for us, you maddening well-behaved menace.” Middle and ring fingers push inside the soft saliva-wet hole. He loves the grip that Ren has; no matter the size of the objects he puts up there, it always returns to that tight shape. Ren’s got his eyes shut. His teeth bite down on the full lip beneath them. It looks like Hux is causing him pain, but he knows better; the two are too intertwined in the twisted force user anyway. 

“Am I touching the right spot now?”

Ren nods, eyes still shut. Then, when Hux crooks his fingers hard, the appropriate “Yes, sir” follows immediately after a groan. His fingers slide in and out, eventually adding his index finger as well, and the resistance with the addition lessens his speed. Ren’s pelvis rocks with each shove of Hux’s hand, eagerly adding more momentum to the slamming. For every three disgusting squelching sounds, fingers and air and lube in the tight space, Ren adds one gorgeous sound of desire. Hux can make the other man come this way alone. They’ve done it before, but it took a while, building up, losing the orgasm, building it up, and then finally finding it. Even Hux had become impatient then, though he’d felt prouder at the violent eruption from Ren than some of his greater military accomplishments.

He’s been leaning on his free hand and it’s starting to tingle, so he thinks what better way to wake it than wrapping it around Ren’s as-of-yet untouched cock. He grabs more lube, which is easier said than done with one hand otherwise occupied, but Ren’s still got his eyes shut, perhaps picturing someone else’s hand doing this, and doesn’t notice. He doesn’t fail to notice though, when that free slick hand touches his cock. Suddenly large, puppy dog eyes are on him.They beg, but for what more Hux can’t imagine. He’d try and give it anyway, if it was within his power. And that’s the spell that lust casts, a glamour over Ren’s body, making the beet red tip of his cock between Hux’s fingers look shinier, giving the drunkard’s pink on his cheeks the illusion of coquettishness, and elevating the trembling of lip and vibration of limbs to the level of artwork. He prefers to ignore the allure of his co-commander’s physical appearance, tries to bury it beneath a similar appreciation for Ren’s eagerness, for the way he can take a cock and a beating with equal joy, but sometimes, that unique beauty is undeniable. 

The rhythm is the same but the motions aren’t, and Hux is consumed by the effort of stroking and finger fucking simultaneously. An effort he’s happy to put forth. Ren, hips lurching and mouth alternating between clamped jaw and wide open-mouthed moan, chases the shadow of an orgasm that draws nearer and nearer. 

“You were so good for us. You’ve earned this time,” he soothes as he fucks his fingers inside Ren, jerks his cock rougher than he does his own, moving faster. “Such a good boy for me.”

Ren whines as much from the praise as the fucking, a lovely monster more desperate for the kind words than the orgasm. Hux has as many as he could need right now. “Yes, good. Just like that. So helpful to us. Such a good job. Such a good boy.” 

His hands are a blur. Sweat’s broken out all over both of them. By accident, or on purpose, their eyes lock. Ren’s body clamps down, his abs flexing, the tightness of his ass trying to rip the fingers straight off Hux’s hand, and a look near shock flashing over his face. 

“Hux!” cries Ren, ejaculate erupting from his cock. It lands in globs on his stomach and Hux’s legs. Hux milks it, letting his hand slow with the surges. Then, releasing it altogether as it slowly lowers to a dormant position. Removing his other hand proves trickier, with Ren’s body overly sensitive and ticklish. Plus, his greedy ass still doesn’t want to let go, even now. Hux flexes and extends his slimy fingers. One of these days he’ll lose a damn finger to that voracious cavern. He sighs heavily, stretches his back before shifting his legs to the side of the bed. His feet have gone numb and they’ll do their pins and needles for a few minutes yet. 

He sneaks a peek at his now former-servant (Ren always reverts back immediately after orgasm, another good reason why Hux tends to deny him one). Ren’s watching him with half-lidded eyes. 

“Was that sufficient?” asks Hux. No more pet names, now that the game is done. 

Ren tilts his chin up, no more shyness or subservience. “What would it take for me to fuck you, for a change?”

Hux groans, already annoyed with his temporary bedmate. He stands up, begins to clean up as best he can with Ren anchoring down the sheets. He’s ready to get the total bastard out of his quarters so he can finish himself off. He washes his hands thoroughly. No matter how much soap he uses, he’ll catch the scent on them til morning. He feels Ren’s presence, always so looming, behind him. When he turns, he notes the twinkle to Ren’s eye and the slight play of movement around his lips. Perhaps the only thing worse than an angry Kylo Ren is a playful one. 

“And what would it take for you to kiss me?” he asks. 

If Hux’s heart beats a couple of extra times, he’d never admit it. He glares at the large stupid dangerous lips that perpetually spew forth complaints and all sorts of nonsense, like talk of kissing. Hux pushes past him, setting to work clearing off the sheets, though he had intended to dirty them up again himself once he’s alone, but suddenly it seems more important to be busy while Ren gets dressed. Of course, the tremendous nuisance isn’t getting dressed, he’s waiting for an answer, naked and unselfconscious with crossed arms and a smirk. 

“Win me the galaxy, Ren, then we’ll talk.” 

  
  
  
  



End file.
